


That would be enough.

by sadieb798



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1930s, Awesome Sarah Rogers, Character Study, Gen, Irish Sarah Rogers, Mentioned Sam Wilson - Freeform, Mild Language, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Sarah Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Russos said fuck the timeline so I also said fuck the timeline, She just loves her son so much, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is very much in love with Sam Wilson, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: Sarah would recognize him anywhere.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	That would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> A belated birthday gift for Steve Rogers, which I hope he appreciates. (Also my 50th work! How about that!!)
> 
> Inspired by the Sam Wilson Appreciation discord and [this twitter thread](https://twitter.com/littleredhale/status/1279383642133770240). Thanks to [thunder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunder_Cakes/pseuds/Thunder_Cakes) for giving this a quick once-over!

It’s a beautiful day outside, and Sarah decides to take her lunch out in the sunshine.

After such a long shift, it feels as though she hasn’t seen the sun in some time and relishes the warmth of it on her skin after working inside the cool hospital. There’s a bench just across the street that she privately considers to be hers and this was where she sits and tries to enjoy her lunch of crackers.

That's when a man takes the open seat next to her.

 _I hope he doesn’t get any ideas,_ she prays privately. Mid-chew, Sarah subtly flashes her wedding ring for the man to see. Joseph has been gone for years, but she has found use in the ring he gave her in thwarting off any potential suitors. Not only because she genuinely wasn’t interested, but because of her son. _I have Steven to think about and I’m not eager to share him with someone who isn’t worthy of him._

Sarah glances up at the man and finds him staring at her, clearly waiting for her acknowledgment.

“Ma’am,” he says, a sheepish smile on his face that takes her aback. “I was wondering if you wanted this instead?” 

He opens a black metal lunchbox and inside is what looks like a sandwich wrapped in tin foil and beside it, there’s a bottle of cranberry juice. She stares at the spread inside the lunchbox, stunned. The entire meal has her mouth watering, and her stomach cramps with hunger.

There are about a million questions on the tip of her tongue, each vying for attention, and she opens her mouth to ask.

Baby blue eyes meet her own. Sarah blinks rapidly. _I must be hallucinating,_ she reasons _._ She pinches her arm, but he’s still there.

His hair is a soft golden blond, with a few strands falling onto his forehead like they always do when he runs his fingers through it repeatedly. He’s dressed in clothes that are finer than anything she’s ever been able to even dream of affording for her son, and that’s when she realizes how much bigger and taller he is than her.

Sarah would recognize him anywhere.

 _That’s impossible,_ her brain objects, _he’s at home with the flu, Bucky’s watching over him._ She doesn’t know how or why, but her eyes don’t lie: he is older, and healthier, and stronger. _He lived. After so many doctors and specialists told me he wouldn’t, he lived._ A weight she hadn’t realized was there in her chest eases somewhat.

She sucks in a breath. “Steven?” she asks, but she _knows._

A soft smile appears on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Hi, Ma. I’ve missed you so much.”

A coil around her heart tightens. She hardly knows what to think, much less to say, but opens her mouth anyway.

“Your voice hasn’t changed,” Sarah informs him and internally winces. _That was_ not _the first words that I wanted to say to my son,_ she reprimands her brain, _but yes, his voice hasn’t even changed._

That startles a laugh out of Steve, and she’s glad for her blunder after all if only to see his reaction: he throws his head back and grasps at his chest. He laughs so hard, his eyes close tightly, making the crinkles in the corners more prominent. She stares at him, amazed at how hard he’s laughing and that he isn’t wheezing at all.

“No,” he says, once he’s gotten himself under control. His laughter winds down into a chuckle. “I guess it hasn’t.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow at him. “I’ll be taking that lunch and explanation now,” she states and holds out her hand pointedly.

Steve smirks at her, his eyes sparkling with humor. _Glad to see some things haven’t changed after all,_ she thinks with relief. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies and hands over the sandwich.

Sarah takes her time carefully unwrapping what turns out to be a chicken sandwich that's stuffed with vegetables that these days she only dreams about them. She doesn’t want to risk dropping any of those delicious goodies, and as an added bonus it gives him space and time to gather the words he needs to explain himself.

He looks thoughtfully off into the middle distance, chewing on his lower lip. _This ought to be good,_ she reasons with her first bite.

“Rhodey says doing this kinda thing is dangerous to the timeline,” he explains, a crinkle appearing between his eyebrows and he huffs out a frustrated sigh. “But I say fu - uh.”

“Fuck the timeline?” Sarah finishes for him. _I don't understand what that means, but I know Steven: he'll do whatever he thinks is right no matter what._

Steve raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything about hearing her curse - which she _knows_ is very rarely.

“Yeah,” he agrees with a smile. “Fuck the timeline, Ma.”

* * *

The remnants of her lunch sit abandoned in the lunchbox beside her, as she takes a moment to process everything he’s told her. She's had a few minutes to get used to the idea, but the story her son told her sounds like just that: a story. _Except I know my Steven,_ she reminds herself, _and he was never a good liar._

“So in the...future,” Sarah tests, and Steve gives her an encouraging nod. “Are you happy?” she asks.

Steve blinks at her, startled. “Yeah,” he answers in disbelief. “It took me a while, Ma, but I’m happy.”

She nods, a mixture of pleased and relieved inside her. “Are you married? Did you make me any grandchildren?” she teases, and his lips twist into a half-smile.

“Not exactly.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow, flicks her eyes down to look at his hands. They’re resting on his knees, his fingers gripping the fabric of his trouser pants so tight, his knuckles turn white. _He’s nervous,_ she realizes, and her eyes snap to watch his face.

“Ma, I,” Steve heaves a sigh. Pain lances through Sarah at seeing him this way. “There’s something I gotta tell you, that I never got a chance to.”

_Oh._

Quietly, Sarah removes one of his large hands from his knees. She takes it in hers and weaves her fingers through his. “What’s his name?” she asks with an encouraging squeeze.

Steve’s head whips around at her so fast, she’s almost afraid he’s hurt himself. “You knew?!” he asked, the tail end of his question rising up into a shriek. “All this time? You _knew?”_

Sarah smiles at him, delight bubbling up in her chest. “Like I don’t know my own son like the back of my hand!” she declares. _I don’t think I’ll tell him that his fascination with Cary Grant hasn’t gone unnoticed_. “Tell me about him, son.”

To her further delight, Steve’s face lights up, rivaling all of New York.

“His name is Sam Wilson,” Steve begins, his voice dripping with love and affection. “I met him a few years ago, he’s the kindest man I’ve ever known. He has the prettiest eyes, a laugh that’s infectious, a smile that’s so bright and beautiful - ” he gives a longing sigh that surprises her. “I can’t even properly describe it, Ma.”

Sarah smiles at him. There’s a warmth in her chest accompanied by a brief ache in her chest, thinking about Joseph, but it doesn’t overwhelm her. Instead, it reminds her of all the love she felt for Joseph - all the love she can see in her son. _It’s good to see him so much in love._

“And he loves to cook!” Steve continues, his voice enthusiastic and his eyes bright. “He’s even been teachin’ me a few things.”

“Now that _is_ impressive,” Sarah praises, flashing him a smile. “You’ve always been terrible in the kitchen.”

“Hey,” her son objects without any heat. Sarah laughs, and he gently nudges shoulders with her. “ ’M not that bad,” he grouses.

“You nearly burnt our apartment down boiling potatoes,” she points out, thinking of the smoke-filled apartment she came home to.

His face flushes with embarrassment, that fair Irish skin turning beet red. “I completely forgot about that!” he says, laughing, raises a hand to cover his mouth.

“How could you forget?” Sarah exclaims, falling into his side. He smiles, and presses closer against her. “I was so mad at you!”

“I don’t know!” he answers and they both spend a few minutes just sitting together giggling. _He should be like this every day,_ Sarah thinks, reaching out and taking his hand again.

“I wanna marry him someday Ma,” Steve says quietly after a minute, his loose hand fidgeting in his lap.

“Is that...allowed, where you’re from?” she asks tentatively. Her nerves are immediately placated by Steve’s enthusiastic nodding. “Do you think he’ll say no?” _The man would be a fool if he said no,_ she can’t help but think.

“Not exactly,” Steve admits. He turns his oh-so-familiar blue eyes on her, his eyebrows furrowed together, shoulders raised and bracing for anything. _He almost looks_ smaller _, like how I saw him this morning before I left for work._ “I’m - I’m worried you wouldn’t like him…if that makes sense?”

Sarah blinks at him. He stares at her, waiting. She stares down at the cobblestone sidewalk underneath her shoes, her eyebrows pinched together thoughtfully. _He cares about my opinion,_ she thinks, amazed. _Even after all this time, he still cares about what I have to think._ It’s with that thought, that Sarah spends a moment really thinking through her words, and considers them carefully.

“Does he treat you right?” she finally asks.

Steve blinks at her, clearly taken aback. “The best, Ma,” he says.

“Does he make you happy?”

Her son stares at her like she’s some sort of marvel he’s never seen before. _I'll have to remember that expression the next time we're having an argument_ , she thinks, and fights back against the smile that image brings.

“The happiest I’ve ever been,” he admits, a little breathlessly.

“Then sweetheart why on Earth do you think I wouldn’t like him?”

He faces her, stunned. Immediately Steve squeezes his eyes shut, tears glistening in his eyes. He curls in on himself and his shoulders start shaking; he puts a hand over his face and tries to hide from her.

 _“Mo stóirín,”_ Sarah whispers, startled by his reaction. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lays a hand on his back and starts to rub soothing circles along his spine. She’s momentarily struck by the strangeness of the full-circle situation she’s found herself in: doing this same form of comforting here, now, when she’d done it just that morning to try and shift the mucus in her son’s weak lungs. 

_But now his lungs are strong now._ She’s flooded with relief at the reminder. “What’s wrong?”

“I just miss you so much, Ma,” he weeps, his voice hoarse and his shoulders wracking with the strength of his sobs. “I wish you were still with me, helping me, guiding me. I needed you so many damn times - ”

“Well,” Sarah responds, not once letting up on her touch. “I’m right here now.”

At her words, Steve goes impossibly still. Sarah continues rubbing circles into his back.

Then, quietly, he shifts closer to her; doesn’t stop until he’s practically in her lap. His large arms loosen around himself and instead wrap around her waist, delicate in his treatment, as though she’s made of glass. She smiles softly at him. _That’s the way_ I _usually hold him._

He buries his face into her stomach, hiding in her uniform, and quietly starts crying again. 

Once he's settled, Sarah strokes a hand through his hair and gently plays with it. _It almost feels like we’re at home,_ she muses.

Sarah runs with that feeling and starts to hum his lullaby she still uses for him to sleep. After a few minutes, she feels the tension slowly drain out of him, his body relaxing into her's and that fills her with a calm quiet peace.

She knows she’ll be late for the start of her next shift; it's inevitable. _But right now, Steven needs comforting. And he’s always come first._

**Author's Note:**

>  _Mo stóirín_ means "my little treasure" or "my little darling" in Gaelic depending on which website you're looking at. Though let's be real: either one is a precious Sarah nickname for Steve.
> 
> Title comes from Hamilton's "It's Quiet Uptown".


End file.
